


Savannah, London

by cher



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Collars, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, F/F, SmutSwap treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-26 01:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14391414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/pseuds/cher
Summary: Daisy belongs to The Hunter, but first she belongs to Basira.





	Savannah, London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NeverwinterThistle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/gifts).



The bloodhaze is pounding in her head and it’s hard to see anything that isn’t her prey when it’s like this. Hard to know anything. Just. Hard. 

Her legs, her hips hurt with the desire to run, chase, capture. Her teeth ache in the cold, where her lips are pulled back in a snarling grin, and it always feels like she has fangs in her mouth. She doesn’t, she’s checked when she can bear to see a mirror. Just human, blunt teeth, and a jaw that wants to bite. 

The thing she’s watching moves, thinks it’s hiding where it can’t be seen, but it can’t hide from her. It’s easy, everything is so easy when the blood’s on her. 

There are noises around her, loud ones. They might be words but she can see her prey and so she can’t understand anything else. Single channel input, the snarky snotty one tells her when he pushes and drags with his barbed wire voice until she has to answer him, has to tell him about the bloodhaze and how it is with her. 

Could be him in the shadows over there, actually. He could be her prey. She goes after monsters, any monsters, and he plays where he shouldn’t and loses more and more of what isn’t prey as he goes. 

God, she’d love to bite him. She hopes he _has_ lost what keeps him safe from her. 

The noises are close, and she can’t understand them, but she can understand the sudden pressure on her throat. It clears her vision and then she’s a woman again, a panting, heaving woman with smarting knees where she’s crashed down to kneel on the pavement. 

Sims gives her a wild-eyed look and scuttles back in the Institute, Blackwood trailing anxiously behind him. Good, the kid will keep him in his office with tea and biscuits and a giant smothering crush so obvious it can be seen from space. They won’t bother anyone for hours. 

That leaves her here, kneeling in the cold and trying to control her breath while her saviour stands steady behind her, thigh pressing warm into Daisy’s freezing back. One of Basira’s hands rests on her nape, one of her elegant fingers hooked through Daisy’s collar, pulling back just enough so that Daisy can feel the leather pressing on her throat. 

She’s herself again. As herself as she can be, anymore. 

Basira doesn’t speak to her. She never does, after she’s brought Daisy down. She tugs twice on the collar and walks away, back into the old building. She doesn’t look back. She doesn’t have to; Daisy will follow her anywhere, Eurydice escaping the dark. 

Basira waits for her in the stationary room, a room that has a strong lock and none of them quite know why. But it does, and Basira wants to be locked in here with a thing as dangerous as Daisy, with nothing but that strap of leather to keep her safe. Basira has seen what Daisy is, what Daisy does, what Daisy loves to do. She still turns the key on this little prison and makes it their own. 

Daisy goes to her knees again, the ache of newly bruised flesh singing through her. Basira leans back against the wall and looks at her, and Daisy crawls over, pushes her tunic up and away, undoes the zippered pants. 

The smell of her is overwhelming. Daisy makes a low noise, noses in against Basira’s warm skin. The collar is tight on her throat when she bends her head forward, pressing her nose into crisp dark hair and soft, soft skin. 

She looks and Basira nods to her, permission, command. Daisy pulls down the dress pants, eases the leg over one of Basira’s booted feet, leaves them pooled around the other. Basira leans back on the wall and parts her legs, just a little, just enough. 

Daisy licks up, licks in, presses herself as close as she can be. She has no finesse, not when Basira is owning her like this. She needs to cover herself in Basira, make it so that she can’t taste or smell anything but her saviour’s sex. 

This is how she remembers herself. This is how she hangs onto she shape of being human. With her tongue deep inside this woman, this pussy, this wonder, with her teeth blunted and not needed here. With her face slick and sticky and her breath coming hard until she feels she could drown in Basira, and her collar always, always tight.


End file.
